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next is also sacred to herself and her ruling power, and consists in frequent, thorough examination of the state and order of the things committed to her. The third act is social, rendering her treasures available to the good of others. Daily intercourse with a cultivated mind, is the best method to rivet, refine and polish the hoarded gems of knowledge. Conversation with intelligent men, is eminently serviceable. For after all our exu'tation on the advancing state of female education, with the other sex will be found the wealth of classical knowledge and profound wisdom. If you have a parent, or older friend, who will at the close of each day kindly listen to what you have read, and help to fix in your memory the portions most worthy of regard, count it a privilege of no common value, and embrace it with sincere gratitude.



WE ARE BUT two-the others sleep

Through death's untroubled night:
We are but two_0 let us keep

The link that binds us bright.

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Heart leaps to heart--the sacred flood
That warms us is the

That good old man-his honest blood

Alike we fondly claim

We in one mother's arms were locked

Long be her love repaid;
In the same cradle we were rocked,

Round the same hearth we played.

Our boyish sports were all the same,

Each little joy and wo :-
Let manhood keep alive the flame,

Lit up so long ago.

WE ARE BUT TWO-be that the band

To hold us till we die;
Shoulder to shoulder let us stand,

Till side by side we lie.



I saw the infant cherub-soft it lay,
As it was wont, within its cradle, now
Decked with sweet smelling flowers. A sight 80

Filled my young breast with wonder, and I gazed
Upon the babe the more. I thought it slept-

yet its little bosom did not move !
I bent me down to look into its eyes,
But they were closed; then softly clasped its hand;
But mine it would not clasp. What should I do?

Wake, brother, wake !" I then, impatient, cried ; "Open thine eyes, and look on me again !" He would not hear my voice. All pale beside

My weeping mother sat, "and gazed and looked
Unutterable things.” “Will he not wake ?"

asked. She answered but with tears.
Her eyes on me, at length, with piteous look,
Were cast-now on the babe once more were fixed-
And now on me: then, with convulsive sigh
And throbbing heart, she clasped me in her arms,
And, in a tone of anguish, faintly said
“My dearest boy, thy brother does not sleep;
Alas! he's dead ; he never will awake."

1 He's dead! I knew not what it meant, but more To know I sought not. For the words so sad“He never will awake"-sunk in my soul :

" I felt a pang unknown before ; and tears, That angels might have shed, my heart dissolved.



SLUMBER's heavy chain hath bound thee

Where is now thy fire ?
Feebler wings are gathering round thee

Shall they hover higher ?
Can no power, no spell recall thee

From inglorious dreams?
0, could glory so appal thee

With his burning, beams!

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Thine was once the highest pinion

In the midway air ;
With a proud and sure dominion,

Thou didst upward bear.

Like the herald, winged with lightning,

From the Olympian throne, Ever mounting, ever brightening,

Thou wert there alone.

Where the pillared props of heaven

Glitter with eternal snows, Where no darkling clouds are driven,

Where no fountain flows-
Far above the rolling thunder,

When the surging storm
Rent its sulphury folds asunder,

We beheld thy form.

From that cloudless region stooping,

Downward thou didst rush,
Not with pinion faint and drooping

But the tempest's gush.
Up again undaunted soaring,

Thou didst pierce the cloud, When the warring winds were roaring

Fearfully and loud

Hårk ! his rustling plumage gathers

Closer to his side,
Close, as when the storm-bird weathers

Ocean's hurrying tide
Now his nodding beak is steady-

Wide his burning eye-
Now his opening wings are ready,

And his aim-how high !

Now he curves his neck, and proudly

Now is stretched for flight

Hark! his wings—they thunder loudly,

And their flash-how bright!
Onward-onward over mountains,

Through the rock and storm,
Now, like sunset over fountains,

Flits his glancing form.



your skill!

LORD PERCY, with his regiment, firing at a target on Boston

Common. JONATHAN, an awkward looking country boy, that had outgrown

his jacket and trowsers. Percy. Now, my boys, for å trial of Imagine the mark to be a.Yankee ; and here is a guinea for whoever hits his heart.

[Jonathan draws near to see the trial ; and when

the first soldier fires, and misses, he slaps his hand on his thigh, and laughs immoderately. Lord Percy notices him. When the second soldier fires, and misses, Jonathan throws up

his old hat, and laughs again.] Percy, [very crossly]. Why do you laugh, fellow?

Jonathan. To think how safe the Yankees are; if you must know.

Percy. Why, do you think you could shoot better? Jonathan. I don't know; I could try.

Percy. Give him a gun, soldier, and you may return the fellow's laugh.

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